At the Edge of Eternity
by striz
Summary: After the fall of the Legion, one man abandons his past , while another yearns to understand the calling of his blood.
1. Prologue

At the Edge of Eternity

Prologue

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He sat, hunching his wiry shoulders in against the cold. It was always cold now; he could never feel anything but the numbing pain in his limbs. He slowly raised his eyes and glanced around the small clearing, scanning the trees for something that was not there.

Almost unconsciously, he added wood to his pitiful fire. It was being drowned by the slight snowfall that seemed to linger over his days. It was the cold that scared him, it was the cold that hurt him, it was the cold that was slowly and surely breaking his spirit. Pulling his cloak about him, the shrouded figure coughed slightly, and watched his breath fade into the air around him. He knew he would die if he stayed out here, but there was nothing he could do. He would never go back.

It had taken every ounce of his spirit to stand up, to walk away from his past. But it was too much – there was too much blood in his memories for him to continue fighting forever. Better to run, he thought, than to be destroyed by simple inaction. He sighed, and tried not to think of filling his belly with…something.

The dulled blade sat beside him, its once-shimmering surface now bland, and coated with a fine layer of biting ice. It was a companion, but every time he stared it at he felt a pull at his soul. Every time the blade caught the firelight it seemed to sing to him, tell him that he was wrong. Go back, it seemed to whisper, return where you are needed most. The romance of his past was calling to him, and though he sat motionless, it was all he could do to resist. It was all he could do to forget. _His dark green skin tensed as he fought with himself to withstand the cold, he concentrated every fibre of his being on staying alive._

The hours melted away, and darkness finally blanketed the barren landscape. The stars shimmered off the snow, and somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. And a tiny campfire cast a flickering shadow across the features of the cloaked figure beside.


	2. Chapter One: The Caravan

Chapter One

The Caravan

Teranor stood at the hill's peak, watching the advance below him. They were always marching, always pressing on. If the army could feel the chill like he could, they would not be so eager. He shuddered. It was increasingly difficult to rise each morning, to give the order to continue. Teranor moved his numb hands through his steed's mane.

He did not know why he was travelling north, he did not know when they would stop. But he knew it was different now, since the fall of the Legion. Things always seemed just shy of perfect to the damned. He smirked tersely at the pitiful humor in his thoughts. These days, he felt he was going out of his mind. The ageless drones lumbering on the plains below him would never understand emotion, never understand his cursed being. But that was why they could press on. It did not matter to them that their leader was tormented with his very existence, for all they knew was to follow him.

The Deathknight was of medium height, and very wiry. His shoulder-length silver hair melted seamlessly into his pale skin and mirrored icy gray eyes. He was clothed in heavy, flowing robes of black, and carried an ornate sheath slung over one shoulder. From within the leather scabbard shone a flickering light, akin to that of a fire but different somehow. The flame was without light, or heat. It simply…existed, and burned incessantly with an empty resoluteness that was only paralleled by its master's spirit. Teranor had grown up knowing that something was different inside of him, and only recently had been awakened to his true path as a supporter of the damned. He had never really given a second thought to his choice…his life made no difference to anyone. 

Teranor shouldered his broadsword, wincing as the metal bit through his grayed flesh. Anything he touched chilled him to the bone. He muttered a command to his horse, and they sped down the hill to the flatlands. He moved quickly through the ranks of the soldiers; past the battered siege carts, past the foul stench of the lumbering undead. In a matter of minutes he was at the front lines of the horde, amidst the ravenous ghouls and cool, determined wizards – the last of the humanity in sight.

The plains were snowy and empty, save for the looming cliffs in the distance. They had been growing larger for some time, and now threatened to tear the cloudless sky above with their arched, jagged peaks. There was no vegetation, no birds, no signs of life on this wasteland. The flats stretched off east and west as far as the eye could see, broken only by the unnaturally pronounced ice formations that had been shaped by the ceaseless wind.

Teranor had been walking at the head of his army, and the young knight was startled out of his distant confusion at the sound of a voice. 

"My lord, I assume we'll have traveled enough for one day soon. My men…they grow weary, with time." One of the nearby sorcerers was speaking in a disinterested undertone.

Teranor raised an eyebrow. Glancing backwards, he saw flesh and teeth and blood and evil. Certainly nothing remotely resembling fatigue. In fact, the smaller creatures were only ten meters behind the generals, and they were stumbling over each other in their haste to catch up. Those that hesitated and fell were instantly trampled over, and reduced to almost nothing: a sickly remainder of a driven killer.

"We shall stop when we have arrived at our destination, commander," Teranor growled, startled at the grating sound his voice made. "If you are unable to persuade the horde to follow, I'm _certain_ that I would find a…replacement without a great deal of difficulty." He couldn't help but think that he sounded like the archetypal villain. It disgusted him that he had become so predictable in his actions. 

The stone-faced necromancer did not reply. He turned away, muttering softly. _At least I still have some control_, Teranor thought. _I wish I knew what our destination was._

Two hours later, the sun was losing its grip on the landscape, and the winds were slowly picking up. The necromancers pulled their cloaks tightly around themselves, some gazing imploringly at their leader. The others stared blankly ahead. Teranor was aware of the ripping cold, but ignored the signs his body was giving him. Far behind him, an axle snapped with a crack, and drove the wagon nose first into a snow bank. Screams from the ranks of the horde indicated some injury. As Teranor slowed his horse, the necromancer he had earlier spoken with stumbled over.

"Sir, this is madness. We must rest. Over fifteen hours we've marched, and we need to replenish supplies. If you have any remorse, you'll stop the advance."  
Teranor did not act upon the rage that he felt inside his breast. He nodded only slightly, and the sorcerer visibly relaxed. At a signal from the wizard general, the workers began to unload carts and set up a camp. In moments, the army had become a settlement. The ground seemed to wither and die beneath the knight's feet. Teranor slowly moved away from his army, deep in thought. _What is forcing me on?_

Some time later, after the fires burned brightly and the wounded had been tended to (or devoured), S'Vaanis the undead mage left the captains tent and his friends. He moved outside, and stared off into the distance. The eerie winter moon silhouetted a cloaked figure staring off into the endless night.


End file.
